A Wedding in Provence (16 page)

“He was the caretaker, the doctor,” Olivia said. “Maybe he didn’t believe anyone could take care of him.”

Brody nodded. He wiped his face with the back of his hand.

“Bastard,” he mumbled.

“We’ll go out there when we get back,” Olivia said.

Brody reached an arm out and pulled her close to him. “I’ve got to go tell my mother. She’ll be devastated.”

“But she’ll get him back for a little while,” Olivia said. “And she’ll understand why he left her. The fool.”

“Sorry,
mes amis
,” Sébastien said, walking into the kitchen.

They broke apart and Brody swiped his eyes once again.

“I have some news from the police,” Sébastien said.

“What?” Olivia asked.

“They found Nell’s rental car in Marseille. It was parked in town. Illegally. Gavin must have left it there and moved on in some other way.”

“What do we have to do?” Brody asked.

“Rien,”
Sébastien said. “Hertz will get the car. The police do not care about pursuing Gavin.”

“Good riddance to him,” Olivia said.

“Where’s Nell?” Brody asked.

Olivia pointed to the chocolate message on the center island.

A la plage!

“Remind me why we invited my daughters to our wedding?” Olivia asked, sliding her arm around Brody’s back.

“Entertainment,” Brody said. “The Sister Show.”

“Any chance we can change the channel?”

N
ell walked along the cafés that border the marina of Cassis. She had thought that she spotted her sister in the dark interior of one restaurant. But it turned out to be a French look-alike, a young woman who gave Nell the evil eye for circling her table. Now Nell focused on the pedestrians who filled the street, strolling in one direction or the other.

Most of them were tourists, she guessed. Sunburned and well fed, Germans and Americans, their bellies spilling over the tops of their shorts. The
quai
was crowded with them, speaking many different languages, long lines of them waiting for sightseeing boats that would take them to the calanques. Small groups of people stopped at each restaurant, reading the menus, discussing their choices. Nell could smell a heady mix of suntan lotion, perfume, and fish.

Carly was nowhere.

Maybe she saw Gavin leaving in the morning and decided to hitch a ride.

Ridiculous. Carly was too straight for the Gavins of the world. She liked her guys brilliant and boring, cut from the same mold as her dad. Nell never understood Carly’s attraction to Mr. Clean. Power maybe. Money. But what do you end up with—nights in bed with a geek? Wes had no sex appeal, no passion except for the success of his company. Carly deserved better than that.

No, her sister wanted a day by herself. Still, there was something odd about it. Carly didn’t break the rules.

Nell pulled her phone out of her pocket and called Carly’s cell. Again, it went directly to voice mail.

“I’m worried about you, sister,” she said. “Call me.”

She could hear the shakiness in her own voice.

She had just turned eighteen. She had just gotten into UC Santa Cruz, her first choice. Finally, she was getting her shit together. She had broken up with Harper after he stole the Xanax and Vicodin from her mother’s medicine cabinet. She had a 3.8 on her most recent report card, an improvement so shocking that her adviser asked her if she was cheating. She didn’t tell the guy that she had stopped getting stoned on the way to school. That she liked her immigrant lit class and her creative writing class and read all the books she was assigned. She had a new friend at school, a fearless lesbian who taught her rock climbing. She was thinking about working in Mexico that summer, helping women in remote mountain villages build sustainable vegetable gardens. Her drama teacher had
shown her the program brochure and she had already emailed for information.

For the first time in four years she decided to go to the high school dance. She’d go solo, she’d go straight, she’d see what the hell she had been missing all this time.

The gym was crowded and loud; it reeked of alcohol and hormones. She thought of the bag of weed she had stashed back at the house. She should have gotten stoned first. This was too crazy. She’d walk through once; then she’d go home and get high.

But she spotted Carly in the middle of the dance floor, turning in circles, her arms swaying above her head. She wasn’t moving in time to the music. She had a serene smile on her face as if she were someplace far away from the pounding music and gyrating kids. Two boys danced around her, sometimes rubbing their bodies up against her.

Nell had never seen Carly dance like this. She remembered a cousin’s wedding a year or so ago—Carly did an awkward hip shimmy and kept her arms pinned to her side. Geek dancing, Nell called it. This was something else.

She’s high, Nell realized.

But Carly didn’t smoke weed, didn’t take pills. She was sixteen and unbearably straight. She thought people who smoked cigarettes were bad people.

So why was she dancing like that?

Nell walked around the dance floor, keeping an eye on her sister. Carly had gone to a friend’s house before the dance. She and her friends always seemed to do things in large groups. Nell had never been a part of a group. She didn’t understand
the need to move in packs, to dress alike, to fill every room with so much noise. Where was Carly’s pack? Nell knew some of the girlfriends—Elise, Brenna, Fern, Dina. She couldn’t find any of them. She recognized one of the boys pressing his body against her sister. Rico. A senior like Nell. He got a girl pregnant last year; he was suspended for selling fake IDs this year. Nell moved closer to the center of the dance floor.

Rico ran his hand over Carly’s breasts. Carly kept smiling and leaned her body into him.

“Rico!” Nell called out.

He didn’t look at her. Carly twirled around and the other boy put his hands on her hips and then pressed her into him. His hands moved to her ass, holding her to him.

Nell stepped up and pushed him away. He stumbled back. Nell put her arm around Carly who wobbled on her high heels.

“What are you on?” she asked her sister.

“I’m fine,” Carly said, still smiling.

“No, you’re not.”

“Leave her alone,” Rico said. “We’re having a good time.”

“Not with you,” Nell said.

“I wanna dance,” Carly said, her words slurred. “It feels so good.”

Her arms rose above her; her hips swung from side to side.

“You’re high,” Nell said. “You’re fucked up. I’m taking you home.”

“I am not,” Carly said and she began to giggle.

“You think this is smart?” Nell asked. “You just won the Google internship. You’re going to Seattle for the debate finals. You think this is how you’re supposed to behave?”

“Who the hell are you to tell me how to behave?” Carly barked, her smile gone. She stopped swaying and put her hands on her hips.

“You jealous of her, Nell?” Rico taunted. “You wish you were dancing with me?”

He snaked his arm around Carly’s waist and pulled her toward him. He leaned down and pressed his mouth into hers. Carly started to push back, her hands on his chest.

Nell kicked him hard in the shin. He let go of Carly for a moment and swung wildly toward Nell. The other guy who had been dancing with Carly grabbed his arm and shouted, “Fuck no. We ain’t getting busted here, man.”

Nell grabbed Carly’s hand and led her through the crowd as quickly as she could. Carly stopped fighting her and kept close as they wove through the dancers.

“Do you have a jacket? A purse?” Nell called to her over the din.

Carly looked confused. And then she shouted, “Jacket!” She veered toward the bleachers and pulled her jean jacket off one of the benches. She passed it to Nell who tucked it under her arm.

They made their way to the doors and pushed through the crowd milling there. Once they were outside, Nell dragged Carly away from everyone else. They stood on the sidewalk; cars sped past them.

“Put this on,” Nell said, throwing the jacket at Carly.

“I’m hot. I don’t need it.” The jacket fell to her feet.

“What are you on?” Nell asked.

“What do you care?” Carly shot back. “What are
you
on?”

“Is it E?”

“What’s E?” Carly asked. She was swaying again, her arms swinging around her body.

“Ecstasy. Christ, Carly. What did you take?”

“I drank a little,” she said.

Nell frowned. “You hate booze.”

“Not anymore. I got too high and someone said to drink a few shots of tequila and then I felt so much better.”

“Too high? What was it?”

“Some kind of pill. And if you tell Mom I’ll murder you.”

“I’m not telling anyone. I’m just getting you out of here.”

“Why? I’m having so much fun.”

“Freak dancing with that asshole? We’re going home.”

Nell grabbed the jacket from the ground and put it on. She took Carly’s wrist and led her through the parking lot to her car.

“You’re an idiot,” Nell said when they got in the car.

“I feel sick,” Carly said.

“If you’re going to throw up, do it outside. Don’t mess up my car.”

Carly put her head back on the seat and closed her eyes. “Everybody left. I didn’t know where they all went. But I didn’t care. I started dancing and I didn’t care about anything.”

“Good for you,” Nell said, starting the car.

“Good for me,” Carly murmured, dreamily.

Nell looked at her sister as she pulled out of the parking lot. Carly was the smartest kid in the school. And now she was just another fucked-up teenager. “Go right to bed when we get home. Don’t talk to Mom. I’ll tell her you’re sick. And don’t text anyone. Just put on some music and veg out.”

Carly smiled.

“You’ve never vegged out in your life,” Nell said.

“Everything’s so pretty out here,” Carly said, peering out the front window.

“Man, are you fried.”

And then the red flashing light appeared behind them. The siren filled the space of the car. Carly covered her ears and began to whimper.

“Fuck,” Nell said. “I wasn’t speeding. Don’t get out of the car. No matter what. You sit right there. Do you hear me?”

“Yes,” Carly said, her head in her hands.

“Don’t talk to them. I’ll deal with it.”

Nell pulled the car over to the side of the road and got out of the car.

“Stay right where you are, young lady,” the cop called out.

Nell shut the door behind her and leaned back against it. She shaded her eyes with her hand as she watched the two cops approach her. One man, one woman.

“I wasn’t speeding,” she said.

“Step away from the car,” the male cop said. He had a booming voice that rang out in the dark night.

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

The male cop walked up to her and the woman cop circled the car. She tapped her flashlight against her hip, as if waiting to hit someone.

“Big dance at the high school tonight,” the male cop said.

“I’m just taking my sister home. She’s sick.”

“Has she been drinking?”

“No,” Nell said. “She’s got the flu or something.”

“You been drinking?”

“No,” Carly said. “I was there for like ten minutes. It sucked. We’re going home.”

“You rolled through that stop sign,” the male cop said.

Nell looked back at the intersection. “No, I didn’t,” she said, but she wasn’t sure.

The female cop opened the passenger door.

“Leave her alone,” Nell said.

“Let’s get her out of the car,” the male cop said.

“She wasn’t driving. Leave her alone!” Nell yelled. She dug her hands into the pockets of the jean jacket. Immediately she felt something round and hard: a pill bottle, she guessed.

“What’s in your pocket?”

“Nothing,” Nell said. “My hands are just cold.” She pulled her hands out of her pockets.

The cop stepped closer to her, and patted her pocket, running his hand over the hard plastic.

“Give me your jacket,” he said, his voice rough.

“No,” Nell said. “I don’t have to do that.”

“Get the other girl out of the car,” he yelled to his partner.

“She wasn’t driving!” Nell yelled.

“Give me your jacket and we’ll leave her alone,” the cop told her.

Nell saw Carly try to step out of the car. She stumbled, then fell back, banging her head against the roof of the car.

Nell took off her jacket and tossed it to the cop.

“Just leave my sister out of it,” she said. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”

The cop pulled the pill bottle out and looked inside.

“You’re under arrest,” he said.

—

Nell stopped at a café and ordered a
sandwich au fromage
and a
bière
to go. She spoke some French that she had learned from a French boyfriend. They had met at a weekend yoga retreat in Santa Barbara and had spent their time stretching their muscles in bed in her cabin rather than on the yoga mat. He was tall and skinny and had a wonderful uncircumcised penis that was as acrobatic as he was. When they both returned to L.A., she found out that he had a fiancée. So they saw each other on the sly for a while, always at Nell’s apartment, always in bed. Never in public. Until the girlfriend found a text from her
—chez moi ce soir
—and the guy disappeared from her life.
Quel dommage
.

At least she had learned the language of love—or perhaps it was just the language of sex. He was good for that and a case of herpes.

She took her sandwich and beer and walked out to the lighthouse at the end of the breakwater. The wind had picked up, filling her ears with a rushing sound. The sea was topped with whitecaps. Most of the kayakers and sailboats were heading back to port.

She sat on a rock near the lighthouse, facing back to land. The houses along the harbor were painted in faded pastel colors with vibrant colored shutters on all the windows. It looked postcard perfect except for the sound of a police siren in the distance.

She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. She didn’t know what she was looking for—someone to talk to. But Chaney was the only person she had ever really talked to. She had felt safe with Chaney; she felt like herself with him. With the French guy she was always trying to be the wild one, the girl who didn’t ask for anything but a kiss before he slipped
out of her house. With her sister she was always trying to be more sensible than she was, more focused on her career. When she and Carly talked on the phone Nell would tell her about the great auditions, the calls from her agent promising fabulous roles. She would never tell her that she drank too much the night before and slept too late that morning.